


Fanta-stic Regrets

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Play, Attempt at Humor, Burps, Multi, Steve is the Avengers baby, Tony and Clint are ~relaxed~ parents, gassiness, mention of blow jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9826895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: DISCLAIMER: Title is a stupid pun. :PSteve, in his little headspace, is left unsupervised for a few crucial minutes, and learns the unfortunate effects of mixing too much ice cream and soda...-o-o-o-Kind of combining two of my kinks: age-play/Little Steve and stuffing/burping.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The (Kind Of) Avengers Baby](https://archiveofourown.org/works/884570) by [ms_superwhoavengelockgermany06](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_superwhoavengelockgermany06/pseuds/ms_superwhoavengelockgermany06). 



> Based on the world created by ms_superwhoavengelockgermany06 in her story The (Kind Of) Avengers Baby, where all the Avengers (and Phil) are in a relationship, and Steve, so strong and dependable as Captain America, becomes their little baby, and they all find they get what they need.
> 
> Kind of combining two of my kinks: age-play/Little Steve and stuffing/burping. Turn back now if that's not your (very obscure) jam. ;)

‘Hey Stevie,’ Tony calls, wandering towards the living room, ‘Daddy Clint and I were thinking -  _ woah _ …’

 

Entering the vast, open-plan space the only word that runs through Tony’s mind is ‘glitter’. Glitter  _ everywhere _ . Clint appears behind him, offering a low whistle. Steve’s entire craft box is upside down, the contents scattered across the floor, couches and coffee table.

 

‘You have maids, right?’ Clint says. ‘Tell me there are maids.’

 

Tony rolls his eyes. ‘Corporate cleaners. One call and they’re domestic, though. It’ll be fine.’

 

‘Good,’ Clint says seriously, nodding slowly. ‘Only one thing…’

 

‘What?’

 

‘Where’s Steve?’

 

‘Oh shit,’ Tony says. ‘Stevie!’

 

They eventually find him in his bathroom, similarly coated in glitter, and a thick, slimy layer of soap.

 

‘You don’t happen to have cleaners for this too, do you?’ Clint deadpans.

 

‘Steve, honey, what have you been getting up to?’

 

‘Mess,’ Steve says simply.

 

‘Too right, buddy,’ Clint agrees.

 

Steve offers him the soap bottle. ‘Clean,’ he says proudly.

 

Tony looks at their boy, clothes, face and hair a mess of sparkles and suds, and nods with firm certainty. ‘We are bad parents,’ he says, not even bothering to meet Clint’s eye.

 

‘Hung’y,’ Steve adds.

 

Clint sighs. ‘Alright, kiddo, let’s get you cleaned up first, OK?’

 

‘I’ll sort out the living room, you sort out bathtime,’ Tony says.

 

‘Alright,’ Clint agrees. ‘And, we don’t need to tell the others about this, do we?’

 

‘I think it’s for the best we don’t,’ Tony agrees earnestly. ‘Definitely understand why they say you gotta watch ‘em all the time though.’

 

‘Yeah.’

 

‘Yeah.’

 

-o-o-o-

 

He manages to get the majority of the gluey-glittery mix out of Steve’s hair and clothes and dress him in soft, clean trackies and a baseball-themed t-shirt with minimal difficulty. Steve even behaves through the diapering process, a change from the current norm: deciding he’s a ‘big boy’ now, Steve has been far less willing to lie still for changes.

 

‘Hung’y,’ he repeats.

 

‘Yeah, bud, don’t worry, we got ya,’ Clint assures. ‘I’m sorry Daddy Tony and I weren’t here to play with you earlier.’

 

‘Sorry for mess,’ Steve replies, r’s becoming w’s in his Little headspace.

 

‘Don’t sweat it. We should have been keeping a better eye on you.’

 

‘Don’ sweat it,’ Steve repeats. ‘Don’ sweat it.’

 

He grabs Bucky Bear from his bed and continues to mutter the phrase as Clint leads him down the hall back into the living area, which Clint is surprised, nay,  _ shocked _ , to see looking cleaner than he’s ever seen it before. The skills of Tony’s people will never cease to amaze him.

 

‘Hey Stevo, looks like Daddy Clint got you all good and clean again,’ Tony says, ruffling the kid’s hair.

 

‘Don’ sweat it,’ Steve repeats.

 

Tony meets Clint’s eye, brow furrowed. ‘Something I said,’ Clint explains with a wave of his hand.

 

‘Alright,’ Tony shrugs. ‘Kiddo, me and Daddy Clint were thinking we should have some guy-time, just us three together. What do you say?’

 

‘Don’ sweat it.’

 

‘Is that a yes?’

 

‘Hung’y.’

 

‘Well alright, if we get you something to eat does it sound like a plan? We can play some video games together in the den.’

 

Steve’s eyes light up at that, and he nods excitedly.

 

‘What do you and Bucky Bear wanna eat?’ Clint asks, crossing over to the kitchen area and opening Steve’s cupboard. Generally, they all share space, but one cupboard is reserved for the kid-foods Steve likes most when he’s Little. If Bruce is around he makes sure Steve doesn’t get anything other than fruit or vegetables between meals, maybe with yogurt or hummus, but the others are generally softer.

 

‘Hung’y,’ Steve says simply.

 

‘You gotta help me out buddy. Pop tart?’ Steve shakes his head. ‘Crackers?’ Another head shake. ‘Popcorn? Raisins? Applesauce?’ Every suggestion gets the same response.

 

‘Hey, Stevo,’ Tony beckons him close with a finger and whispers conspiratorially, ‘what about ice cream?’

 

‘Ice cream!’ Steve agrees.

 

‘Just don’t tell the others, OK?’ Tony winks. ‘Our secret.’

 

Steve places a finger to his lips and agrees to keep quiet. Meanwhile, Tony pulls a tub of cookie dough ice cream from the freezer.

 

‘Hawkeye?’ he asks, the question implicit.

 

‘You have to ask?’ Clint says simply, passing over three bowls and the ice cream scoop. ‘Come on, kid, sit up at the bar here.’

 

Steve obediently climbs up onto one of the stools by the breakfast bar, sitting Bucky Bear next to him, and accepts a generous serving of ice cream. He misses his other parents, but there’s no questioning who’s most fun to spend a Sunday afternoon with. He listens to his dads’ easy conversation, the exact words going over his head but the sound of their voices comforts him. He finishes his ice cream quickly, and holds his bowl up for seconds.

 

‘More?’ Tony cocks an eyebrow. ‘Do you promise you’ll eat your dinner?’

 

It’s a question asked only for appearances, Steve’s supersoldier metabolism means he’ll eat most anything that’s put in front of him without complaint (provided he’s in a compliant mood). Steve nods enthusiastically all the same, and Tony relents, giving him more.

 

‘You’re gonna get spoilt,’ Clint teases.

 

‘Ice cream,’ Steve says happily.

 

When they’ve finished their ice cream, they move into the den room for video games exactly as promised. Steve’s diaper’s already wet again, and beginning to itch. He squirms uncomfortably, not wanting to draw either of his parents’ attention, desperate not to waste time that could be spent playing video games. They have both PlayStation and XBox consoles, but Steve’s not normally allowed to play with them. Video games are for bigger kids and grown ups. That’s what Mama says, and Daddy Bruce. Daddy Clint and Daddy Tony wink when they say these things though, and let Steve play every now and then. Bruce and Nat see all this, of course, but let the charade continue. Steve shoves a hand down his pants to scratch where the itch is forming, trying to be subtle, but meeting Tony’s eye perfectly. He freezes, hand still inside his diaper, 

 

‘Stevie,’ Tony says slowly. Steve pulls his hand free, foolishly hoping that just maybe Daddy Tony didn’t notice what he was doing. ‘Do you need a new diaper?’

 

Steve shakes his head.

 

‘Steve,’ Tony says, warning tone coming out now.

 

Steve looks down at his crotch, unwilling or unable to actively deceive his daddy.

 

‘Come on,’ Tony says, offering Steve his hand. ‘I’ll get you clean, and we’ll let Daddy Clint set up the console, OK?’

 

Steve bites his lip before nodding and taking Tony’s hand. Tony grimaces.

 

‘That’s the hand that was in your diaper, isn’t it?’

 

Steve flushes red, and shifts from one foot to the other.

 

Tony only sighs. ‘Come on buddy. We’ll be quick.’

 

Steve, excited for video games and still itching, doesn’t notice the quick pinch Clint gives Tony’s ass, or the finger that’s flipped back in return.

 

Tony’s true to his word, changing Steve quickly even as he wriggles excitedly on the table, sprinkling his crotch area and ass with baby powder to avoid Steve’s itch becoming a full-blown rash. Tony pulls a couple of six packs of soda from the fridge on their way back through, and Steve skips ahead back to the den and promised games, Bucky Bear still in hand.

 

In the den Clint passes controllers to Tony and Steve, having loaded up  _ Chariot _ already, one of their few Steve-appropriate games.

 

Tony pops the tabs on a couple of Coke Zeros, and passes one to Clint.

 

‘Soda,’ Steve says, making grabby hands.

 

‘I don’t know kid,’ Tony says, and Steve knows if something’s making Daddy Tony hesitate he’s almost definitely not going to get it. ‘Coke’s not really for kids.’

 

‘He’s right bud,’ Clint agrees. ‘Caffeine’s not good for littluns.’

 

Steve points at the second six-pack.

 

‘Fanta?’ Tony looks over at Clint, who shrugs. ‘It is caffeine-free. And I guess it’s got fruit in.’ He opens the can and passes it to Steve. ‘Don’t spill,’ he instructs.

 

Steve realises quickly he can’t hold the can and play at the same time, and copying his fathers’ easy mix of swallows and gameplay is just too complicated for him. He hasn’t got that level of coordination. He evaluates his options as he sees them, and decides to down the soda so he can focus. He chugs it in a couple of quick, sweet, swallows, buzzing with excited happiness: not only is he playing grown-up games, he has grown-up drinks too. He sits Bucky Bear in his lap, and focuses on the game. He’s still thirsty though, and when Tony pauses the game to take a leak he pulls a second can from the pack and manages to pop the tab himself, and only spills the smallest bit on the carpet. It’s fine, he’s sure. He chugs that one too, because it felt good the first time he did that. Daddy Clint doesn’t notice, he’s too busy texting. He shuffles over towards him, and taps the screen.

 

‘I’m talking to Daddy Phil,’ Clint says, interpreting the question. ‘He’s really excited to see you tonight, he says he’ll be home for dinner.’

 

Steve flashes a bright smile and rocks happily from side-to-side. Daddy Phil’s been working late too much, and hasn’t seen him for three days now. With Daddy Thor and Mama away too he’s been missing his parents badly. Even Daddy Bruce is away today, at a  _ con-fer-ence _ . He learnt that word specially.

 

Clint reaches for a second can himself.

 

‘You want another one?’ he asks Steve. Steve shakes his head. ‘Alright. Will you be OK on your own for a minute if I go take a slash too? Daddy Tony will be back before you know it.’

 

‘Take a sash.’ Steve attempts to repeat the colloquialism.

 

‘Don’t let your mama catch you saying that,’ Clint warns, standing up and disappearing after Tony.

 

Steve does as he’s told, throwing Bucky Bear in the air and catching him again and staying precisely where he was put. It’s only when he drops Bucky Bear that his mind wanders back to the soda. The cans aren’t very big, so he’s sure another one won’t hurt. Nobody’s around to say no, at least, and that makes it OK. He downs two more before sitting back in place with Bucky Bear, but it’s another long couple of minutes before his daddies reappear, and Steve doesn’t notice Tony’s slight breathlessness and flushed cheeks or Clint’s mussed-up hair. He definitely doesn’t notice the subtle squeeze Clint gives Tony’s quickly softening penis. The archer is the king of blowjobs, even if he does say so himself.

 

Tony cards a hand through his boy’s hair. ‘Thanks for waiting on us, sweetheart.’

 

Steve means to smile, but there’s a sudden twist in his stomach that takes him by surprise.

 

Tony frowns. ‘You alright, kidder?’

 

The feeling passes as quickly as it arrived, and so Steve smiles.

 

Tony settles down on the beanbags next to Steve and leans in to kiss his nose. ‘That’s my boy.’

 

Suddenly Steve feels the twitch again, and all of a sudden releases a reverberant, brassy burp. Tony recoils sharply as Clint doubles over with laughter.

 

‘ _ That’s _ my boy!’ he snorts.

 

Tony fans the air in front of him dramatically. ‘Excuse you, Stevie!’

 

Steve blushes faintly and giggles. Clint is still laughing, and stretches an arm towards Steve.

 

‘Gimme five for that one,’ he crows, and Steve slaps his hand into Clint’s as his dad takes a sharp breath before expelling a burp of his own. ‘Darn it Stevie, I think you beat me.’

 

‘Come on Clint, who’s the kid, you or him?’ Tony teases.

 

Clint shrugs and smirks. ‘It’s perfectly natural.’

 

Tony starts the game again, and Steve does his best to focus, but it’s not even a minute before the twisting stomach lurch hits him again. He hiccups quietly, and shifts a little in his place. He crosses and uncrosses his legs, and for a while that seems to do the trick. And then it doesn’t. His stomach twists and untwists, beginning to ache. He burps softly a couple of times, unheard over the game soundtrack and Clint and Tony’s bantering chatter. Something’s not right, and he doesn’t like it. Again the release of gas brings temporary release, but it’s not long before he’s feeling strange again. This time though it’s not the lurching twist, more of a constant bubbling. He squirms awkwardly, losing focus on the game. It’s still several minutes before Tony notices anything’s up, pausing the game and looking at Steve quizzically.

 

‘Dude!’ Clint protests, then follows Tony’s gaze.

 

‘You wet again, honey?’ Tony asks, faintly suspicious. It’s not like Steve to go through diapers so quickly…

 

Steve shakes his head and hiccups. Clint puts his controller down and turns round to better face Steve, concern growing.

 

‘Steve…?’ he says cautiously.

 

Steve looks fervently at his father, brow creased and lips slightly pouting. His stomach gurgles, and he responds with another loud, bassy burp.

 

‘Don’t ever let no one tell ya that you can’t burp like a man Stevie,’ Clint quips, then the penny finally seems to drop. He looks around and counts the empty cans on the floor. He meets Tony’s eye, and it’s obvious they’ve both come to the same conclusion at the same time.

 

‘Steve,’ Tony begins. ‘Did you drink all these sodas?’

 

Steve sniffles and nods around another soft burp.

 

‘I didn’t even figure he could pop the tabs,’ Clint says, talking to Tony. He looks from the empty cans to their flush-faced son. ‘We are  _ bad  _ parents.’

 

‘And with all the ice cream he had earlier…’ Tony muses.

 

‘It’s no wonder he’s gassier than Barney Gumble,’ Clint finishes.

 

‘Oh Stevie,’ Tony sighs, loving exasperation plain.

 

‘Sorry,’ Steve hiccups.

 

‘Nah kid, we should have been keeping a better eye on you… And I think you’re probably feeling bad enough without taking an flak from us.’

 

‘Flak,’ Steve says, through yet another enthusiastically tuneful burp.

 

‘Dad’s right Stevo,’ Tony agrees, as a little burping hiccup hisses through Steve’s clenched teeth. ‘You better just try and get as much of it out as you can.’

 

‘Hurts,’ Steve mutters, pressing his palms into his notably bloated stomach.

 

‘God damn, that’s really something.’

 

‘God damn,’ Steve mutters, and Clint’s eyes widen.

 

‘No kid, don’t go saying that, your ma and Daddy Bruce will kill me if they think I taught you that.’

 

Steve looks at him, burping in lieu of any other response.

 

‘Six out of ten for that one,’ Clint teases.

 

Steve whines as his stomach gurgles. Tony sighs.

 

‘Come here, baby. Let me see if I can help you out.’

 

Steve crawls obediently over to Tony’s place on the oversized beanbag, and curls up in his lap. Tony rubs soothing circles over his back, like after his evening bottle. He expels a series of short burps into Tony’s shoulder, one after the other.

 

‘Good boy,’ Tony soothes. ‘That’s the stuff.’

 

From the other beanbag, Clint lets rip with an echoing belch of his own.

 

‘You’re passing it to me now, Stevie,’ he teases, and Steve shuffles round in Tony’s lap to look at his father.

 

‘Bless you,’ Steve tries.

 

Tony chuckles. ‘Great manners, bud.’

 

Steve answers with a hum and a growling closed-mouth belch, rubbing the top of his head against the rough stubble of Tony’s chin; not unlike a cat. Tony shifts to massaging gentle circles in Steve’s bloated belly.

 

Steve’s stomach lurches and he lets out another husky belching hiccup.

 

‘That’s the way to do it,’ Tony mollifies. ‘Feeling any better?’

 

A sudden twinge in Steve’s stomach has him doubled over in pain, groaning from the pressure building up in his abdomen.

 

‘Come on baby, sit back, it’ll be easier,’ Clint promises, helping Steve lean back into a more open position. The straightening of his body is all it takes for Steve to turn loose a thick, airy belch. Clint balks as Tony had at Steve’s first eructation, screwing up his nose. ‘OK, that one was pretty funky.’

 

Tony chuckles wickedly. ‘I think we’re even now bird-brain. Good job, Stevo.’

 

‘Very funny,’ Clint deadpans.

 

Tony pulls Steve in closer, grateful for any cuddle time with his boy, even if he is gassy as all heck. As he’s making this observation Steve expels another gargantuan eructation, this one scented thickly with carbonated fruit flavours and the sour creaminess of recently ingested ice cream. He twitches in Tony’s arms, and hiccups. Another moment passes and the same thing happens again.

 

_ Hic. _

 

‘Oh Stevie,’ Tony laments. ‘Guess you won’t be mixing ice cream and soda for a while, huh?’

 

Another hiccup resonates through his whole body.

 

‘No,’ he says solemnly, punctuating the word with an abrupt little burp.

 

Clint has by now moved right around next to Tony, leaning into the engineer’s side and swinging Steve’s legs across his lap.

 

‘How much more you think you got in there, big guy?’ Clint asks, rubbing a hand up and down Steve’s muscled calf over the top of his sweatpants.

 

Steve shrugs and groans, muffling more sharp, bubbly soda burps in Tony’s chest. He preempts their end too soon, his breath hitching as a final sour, airy burp slips from his lips, more or less straight in Tony’s face… again. The inventor held back a sigh: this was parenting, that was for sure.

 

‘Thanks for that, buddy,’ he says acrimoniously, pinching the kid’s shoulder gently. ‘Aw, that one stinks as well,’ he bemoans.

 

Steve giggles, but does at least have the good manners to blush. Tony doesn’t mind, he loves Steve like this, so unashamed and greedy, the way he only is when he’s little. The giggle becomes a groan as his stomach ties itself in another knot and he doubles over again, elbowing Tony hard in the gut as he wraps his arms tight around himself.

 

Tony grunts, eyes widening as he’s temporarily winded.

 

‘Careful, sweetie!’ he chastises gaspingly.

 

Tears prick the corner of Steve’s eyes as his stomach cramps again and again. Clint and Tony catch each other’s eyes guiltily. They’ve messed up big this time, and they both feel it acutely as Steve writhes between them.

 

‘Come on little guy, it’s OK. Just let it out. I know you can do it,’ Clint pacifies, Tony’s consolations falling along the same lines from the other side as he massages Steve’s back in firm, loving circles. With a little more coaxing Steve manages a hearty belch, wet and thick in the back of his throat, and the sigh of relief that comes after it assures them that this has alleviated some of the pain.

 

‘Good boy,’ Tony praises, kissing the top of Steve’s head as he sobs. ‘Feel better now?’

 

Steve nods and sniffs and yawns and wriggles over to curl up between the two men. Glancing at his watch Clint notes they’re coming up for Steve’s naptime, and his upset and the sugar crash has exhausted him even more than normal. With Tony still stroking his stomach in gentle circles he falls asleep quickly, burping once more almost delicately as he drifts into unconsciousness, thumb in his mouth.

 

‘You feel as bad as me?’ Tony asks the archer, one eyebrow cocked.

 

‘You know it,’ Clint replies. ‘We haven’t been much good to him today.’

 

‘Eh, he’s a kid, he’ll bounce back,’ Tony reasons. ‘They always do.’

 

‘You’re just trying not to feel so bad for loving that blowjob so much.’

 

‘Ah, fuck you.’

 

‘Language,’ Clint quips.

 

Tony shrugs. ‘Kid’s sleeping. Damn cute he looks now too.’

 

‘Sure does,’ Clint agrees.

 

It’s that moment that Steve’s stomach gurgles and, still sleeping, he releases a volley of farts into his diaper. Tony meets Clint’s gaze and instantaneously they both fight back laughter, covering their mouths and noses not only to stifle the sound but also the protect themselves from the smell.

 

‘Fuck me, you can’t ever give him that much ice cream again,’ Clint manages eventually. Steve had been severely lactose intolerant pre-serum, and traces of that remained even with his supersoldier body.

 

They sit in companionable smirking silence, each with one hand caressing Steve and the others linked together, resting gently on Steve’s strong thigh. They’re almost falling asleep themselves when Steve begins to wake up, stomach still burbling a little.

 

‘Hey there baby,’ Tony greets, kissing Steve’s forehead. ‘How you feeling now?’

 

‘Feel yes,’ Steve says, his meaning clear. He’s smiling again, and immediately goes searching for Bucky Bear.

 

‘What did we learn today, Stevie?’ Clint asks, fighting to keep the smile off his face in order to make this what Bruce would call a ‘teachable moment’.

 

‘No soda…’ Steve says absent-mindedly. ‘No soda and ice cream. Tummy bad.’

 

‘Yeah, that’s more or less it kiddo,’ Clint agrees. ‘But it’s alright. Daddy Tony and I should have spent more time with you. Our job is to watch you, and we didn’t do a very good job. We can all learn, OK?’

 

‘OK,’ Steve mimics, the majority of Clint’s words having gone over his head as he focused on pulling threads from the carpet. Tony’s about to tell him not to do that when they hear the elevator and Steve jumps up excitedly. More of his parents are going to be here.

 

Tony and Clint follow him into the main living area as the elevator doors part and Bruce and Thor enter together. Apparently recovered from his stomach upset they watch as he goes bounding towards them. Thor sweeps him up into his arms and Bruce reaches to run a hand through his hair. Thor spins him around and, apparently, gives him a squeeze… a colossal, particularly guttural belch explodes from Steve, and explodes really is the only verb Tony thinks appropriate.

 

Bruce and Thor look at him in surprise as a second burp comes growling through their baby’s throat and erupts volcanically from his mouth. Thor laughs uproariously and moves Steve over onto his hip.

 

‘Pardon you, young man!’ Bruce says incredulously.

 

Steve offers a final satisfied belch before kissing Thor’s cheek.

 

‘My-oh-my, sweetling!’ Thor chuckles. ‘You’ll do well when you come to the feasts of Asgard, little one. Anything else left in that belly of yours?’ He pokes Steve’s stomach teasingly.

 

‘Don’t encourage him, Thor,’ Bruce chastises. ‘Steve, honey, what do you say?’

 

‘’Scuse me,’ Steve says, all singsong tones now two more of his parents are back with him.

 

Thor greets his lovers before giving Steve’s padded bottom a squeeze. ‘I think you’re due a change, sweetling.’ Steve nods, fingers twirling through Thor’s hair as they head toward the bedroom.

 

Bruce kisses both Phil and Clint in turn, making no protest as Clint pinches his backside cheekily.

 

‘Good afternoon with him?’ Bruce enquires.

 

‘Yep,’ Clint says, holding up the casual affect.

 

‘Nothing eventful,’ Tony agrees with a shrug.

 

‘Any idea why he’s so… gassy?’ the doctor ventures.

 

Tony and Clint look at each other and then back at Bruce, shaking their heads.

 

Bruce shrugs. ‘It’s probably nothing then.’

 

‘It’s funny,’ Clint quips.

 

Bruce rolls his eyes, exasperated but loving. ‘How’s he supposed to learn good manners if we don’t correct him?’

 

‘Relax, Brucie,’ Tony says, pulling out the rarely-used pet name as he slings an arm over Steve’s shoulder and begins to steer him toward the bedroom, taking Bruce’s briefcase and blazer that had been slung over his forearm as he goes. Clint watches, and Tony turns back to catch his eye. They’d got away with it, somehow...


End file.
